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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050957">someday at christmas (there’ll be no wars)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest'>stevebuckiest</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Campfires, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, Gift Giving, Light Angst, M/M, Mission Fic, Neck Kissing, POV Bucky Barnes, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Secret Relationship, Walks In The Woods, Wartime Romance, in the first bit anyways</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:56:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission on Christmas. Not even on Christmas, technically. A mission after Christmas which means he and Steve and the Howlies will be trekking through the tundra towards possible death on what used to be Bucky’s favorite day of the year. Jesus Christ.</p><p>(alternatively: bucky and steve try to make the best of a shitty situation)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>someday at christmas (there’ll be no wars)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is the first of two christmas fics i have written (because something about my finals dazed brain decided to crank out two 10k fics in under a week). there’s never enough wartime stevebucky fics in my eyes, especially ones where they kiss in the woods &lt;3 so i wrote one for myself and you to enjoy! happy holidays for whatever you might celebrate.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> War is hell</em>. Bucky isn’t sure where the saying comes from or if it even comes from anywhere to begin with- it’s a pretty basic sentiment, to be fair. A very common one nowadays with how many lives have been upheaved and undone by what’s happening to what seems like the whole damn world. </p><p> </p><p>So, war is hell. War might even be worse than hell, in Bucky’s humble opinion. He might not have been the good Catholic boy his mama wanted him to be (how could he be with Steve running around right next to him stirring up trouble and feelings of something strange in Bucky’s chest?) but he remembers what the Church taught the both of them about that place, if not for educational purposes but because it had scared him something awful growing up feeling and doing things he knew the church would cast him out in the cold for. </p><p> </p><p><em>Sinners</em> <em>go to hell, children. Say your prayers, confess your sins, keep yourself from failing in the eyes of the Lord</em>. Bucky knows that by all technical terms, he’s not doing too good of a job at keeping himself holy, but he’s not sure he’s worried. At first, sure. He’d cried and cursed himself something awful the first time he came with Steve’s name on his tongue, but that was years ago, and he’s grown up enough to know there’s no coming back from how deep he’s in on that front. He doesn’t <em>want</em> to come back, and he knows he could never convince Steve to want that either after all the things they’ve already done together. </p><p> </p><p>Now, with the both of them out on <em> this </em> front- how much worse can things really get? He’s already halfway to damned to begin with considering the circumstances. </p><p> </p><p>Still, Bucky has had plenty of time and life harrowing situations recently to make him ponder about hell and heaven and all the other places he might hypothetically end up if he ever makes it out of this god awful mess- but he already knows one thing, and that’s that this war is going to be the worst place out of all the options no matter what ends up happening. </p><p> </p><p>War makes monsters out of men, but hell doesn’t have to do anything. Hell is just where those monsters go. Hell is full of the heathens and the horrible, monsters and men who weren’t what they should have been when they were among the living (Bucky doesn’t like to think too hard about what qualifies one to fit that last label). </p><p> </p><p>But war? War is full of innocents. Bystanders, babies, broken families waiting for sons who will never come home in the way they want, boys who didn’t want to go away from their homes or family to begin with. Even the brave who wanted to do the right thing in the beginning but didn’t know what they were really getting into, how much it would take away for so little victory. </p><p> </p><p>They’re not innocent in the conventional sense, not anymore. Bucky knows that firsthand. He hadn’t wanted to come over here, which could be called cowardice- but he’s never been a warrior like Steve had so clearly itched to be even when he was. But it doesn’t matter anymore, because whatever <em> Bucky </em> had been before, whatever he had wanted to become- he’s a soldier now. There’s too much blood on his hands and bullets in his gun to suggest otherwise. The innocence and boyish charm, the confidence, the charisma- there’s no place for that here unless he wants to end up going trigger happy and losing whatever scraps of humanity he has left. He’s not sure how many of those there are. </p><p> </p><p>The biggest one, though, that would have to be Steve. Bucky’s beautiful, bright, bullheaded boy. The closest remainder of home (really, at his base, Bucky’s only home to begin with). </p><p> </p><p>He had never wanted him over here. He still doesn’t. It’s a conflict, really- how can he be happy to see the love of his life when it’s because he’s followed him into the hellscape Bucky had never wanted <em> himself </em> to be in in the first place- but at the same time, how can he not be? It’s Steve. A very different version of him physically, but still the same Steve Bucky loves nonetheless- the night of their reunion (Christ, after Steve <em> rescued </em> him) is enough to have proven any doubt of that in Bucky’s mind false. </p><p> </p><p>Although he respects Steve’s reasons for wanting to do his part (even if he doesn’t understand exactly why it had to be in this way), he’s not happy to have him over here when it comes down to it, but now that he is...well, at least it’s with Bucky. At least Bucky can try to get back to doing what he does best- keeping Steve’s six safe. It’s something so ingrained in him he didn’t know he was missing it until he woke up one day feeling like he lost part of himself now that he had to go without it. </p><p> </p><p>Til the end of the line, Bucky had once promised him. Sitting back in Zola’s lab, strapped down and stiff, Bucky had been nearly sure that that was where things were headed until- miracle of all miracles, Steve came busting in the door like a blonde headed angel decked out in leather and a star spangled shirt that was almost laughably out of place until Bucky realized what Steve had been doing while Bucky wasn’t around. </p><p> </p><p>Really, Steve is the only damn good thing over here- him returning to Bucky’s side was a blessing and a curse, a conflict like everything else that happens nowadays. The night they’d gotten back together after the rescue and the raucous was all over and done, Steve had laid his head on Bucky’s chest and told him what Dr. Erskine had told him before the serm. How he had seen him with Bucky at the expo and known that he was what the serum needed- </p><p> </p><p>“The serum was supposed to amplify everything already inside” Steve had whispered. “Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. Or at least that’s what he told me.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Not a perfect soldier, but a good man. </em> Bucky knows that that’s what Steve is- the war might try to eat him up, dim that goodness inside, but Bucky won’t let it. Steve won’t let that happen to him, either. That’s what they always do- do their best to have each other’s backs, although Steve’s way of doing so hasn’t ever been able to be as physically representative until now. Bucky, though- Bucky’s been wading him in and pulling him out from in over his head since Steve was five and he was six. </p><p> </p><p>Their love for each other doesn’t change no matter time nor place, and it’s clear that their old habits don’t either, because war might be hell, but what they feel with each other is as close to heaven as Bucky thinks they’ll ever get if the Catholic Church is anything to go off of.</p><p> </p><p>With that being said- no matter how many weeks Bucky is over here, the extent of which war ruins things never stops making Bucky’s heart sink. He’d say he’s surprised, but he’s not really. He just doesn’t know what he should have expected. He’s seen his fair share of awful things over here- hell, he was a POW. He’s seen awful things from the other side as well. </p><p> </p><p>Still, that somehow doesn’t make the news Colonel Phillips dropped on them today any easier to stomach. If anything, it makes Bucky want to laugh, although he’s feeling anything but amused. Hopeless, maybe. Hysterical. </p><p> </p><p>A mission on Christmas. Not even <em> on </em> Christmas, technically. A mission <em> after </em> Christmas which means he and Steve and the Howlies will be trekking through the tundra towards possible death on what used to be Bucky’s favorite day of the year. Jesus Christ.</p><p> </p><p>He knows it’s ridiculous to be upset, all things considered- but, fuck if Bucky doesn’t feel like he’s justified in being selfish when he’s sacrificing so many larger things for a country that doesn’t even support the type of man he is behind closed doors. They’d toss him in jail right along with their precious Captain America if they ever caught them kissing back stateside, but he’s supposed to give up his <em> life </em> for them? He’s willing to be over here for other reasons for the bigger picture, but sometimes...he’s just tired. Exhaustion has always made a bit of a diva out of him (as if he didn’t used to be one on the regular to begin with) and right now the news about Christmas feels like the straw that breaks the camel’s back for a burden none of them can lessen the load on. It’s the little things, you know?</p><p> </p><p>He’s man- <em> soldier </em> enough to not have thrown a tantrum back in front of Phillips or any of the other men, but now, sulking in the corner of Steve’s officer tent under the guise of going over battle plans he lets the irritation show on his face. Steve is very obviously trying to pretend not to notice by being nice about it, which only serves to get Bucky even more pissed off that Steve doesn’t seem to care while Bucky is ready to burst a blood vessel about it. He can’t lose his temper on him, though, not without Steve going all kicked puppy on him. And Bucky might be mad, but he doesn’t want <em> that</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He settles instead on gesturing Steve over to the cot, laying back against the pillows with an arm draped out in clear invitation for Steve to settle in by. “C’mere,” he mutters. “It’s cold.” It’s true, it is. Winter turns out to be even worse on the front than it is in Brooklyn, and that’s saying something. </p><p> </p><p>Steve doesn’t need the excuse to cuddle Bucky for heat anymore with his new body (he honestly hasn’t needed it for a long time with what they are to each other), but he smiles faintly and doesn’t call out Bucky for the bullshit. Instead, he sneaks a glance to make sure the tent doors are swung shut and pads over to carefully set himself on the bed next to his lover, booted feet kicked out in front next to Bucky’s own. </p><p> </p><p>He’s overly wary about where he sets his weight now (it’s taken some getting used to even for Bucky- Steve damn near broke his jaw trying to sit in his lap after Azzano), and for a brief moment, Bucky lets his sour mood flicker in favor of smiling tiredly and tugging him closer to feel their body heat pressing against each other through the material of their coats. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuckin’ freezing out here,” he says, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over Steve’s shoulder out of habit from when they used to do this by their apartment radiator. “Looks like we might be having a White Christmas, at least.” His words come out unintentionally bitter. </p><p> </p><p>Steve sighs, tipping his head to nudge against Bucky’s neck  “I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Guilt rises up in Bucky’s throat at how dejected he sounds. “Hey,” he says. “I know it’s not your fault. S’just how things are.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve exhales against Bucky’s skin, quiet for a moment that’s filled by the sounds of men walking around outside and going about their day without a clue that two of their most revered men are in an officer’s tent doing something that could most likely get them arrested back home. “I know it’s still a bummer,” he eventually responds. “It’s okay to be upset.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a lot more important things to be upset about over here, Stevie.” Bucky takes his own moment to fall silent, curling his hand tighter around Steve’s bicep, firmness still foreign under his fingertips. “Besides, it’s not like we could have done much for Christmas even if they weren’t sending us out.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s objectively true, but they both know damn well being at camp and settling for playing cards with the Howlies and chancing sleeping in Steve’s tent together would be a whole lot more merry than having to rough it out in the cold woods at the risk of being caught by the Hydra operatives they’re supposed to be venturing out to take down. </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Steve whispers. He presses his face closer into Bucky’s neck to a point where it has to be uncomfortable with Bucky’s stubble pricking at his skin, but he doesn’t pull away. “<em>I know</em>.” His tone suggests he understands more than just Bucky’s words, and Bucky has to swallow down the strange swell of emotion that raises in him. </p><p> </p><p>Christ. And here he had been about to pop his top at him a few minutes ago. <em> Sorry, sweetheart </em> is on the tip of his tongue when Steve speaks up again, so carefully quiet that Bucky knows he’s about to say something sappy. </p><p> </p><p>Sure enough, “This is probably a dumb idea,” he says. “But, you know, we could still try and do <em> something</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky raises his eyebrows and slides his free hand to wedge between their bodies for heat. “Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve snuffles out a warm breath, cold nose pressing into Bucky’s pulse point. “I don’t know. Gifts, I guess? There’s gotta be some stuff lying around camp we could make something out of. Stash it in our bags and trade ‘em when we’re out there so we have something to look forward to, at least.” He sounds slightly bashful, like he’s afraid Bucky’s going to tell him off for the suggestion. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t. Jesus, how could he? Like he said, Steve is the only goddamn good thing over here, and fuck if Bucky doesn’t wanna try to have some semblance of the holiday season with him, even with their obligated priorities. </p><p> </p><p>If this is how he gets that (or the closest thing to it, anyways), he’s more than happy to oblige. Even if he knows fuck all of what he’s gonna do to get Steve a gift. </p><p> </p><p>He twists his head to plant a kiss on Steve’s hair, eyes crinkling up when the blonde peeks out from his neck enough for Bucky to be able get at his lips and rosy-red features as well. “Sure, sweetheart,” Bucky whispers, careful to keep his voice down enough so that anyone walking past won’t hear. “That sounds perfect.” It does. Anything from Steve is, really. </p><p> </p><p>“Better than laying here moping for the next few days,” Steve hums, laughing when Bucky flicks him in the nose for the sass. </p><p> </p><p>“I was not <em> moping</em>.” Bucky scowls and shifts to turn his body heat away from Steve in mockong retaliation, but he’s still not quite used to the way Steve can tug back now. Case and point, the arms that wrap around his shoulders to keep him from moving. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Buck</em>.” Steve sounds like he’s smiling even under the complaint, an expression Bucky can’t waste cherishing, not even for the sake of a joke. </p><p> </p><p>He turns back and lets Steve lay with his head propped his chest, drinking in the still-new sight of him gladly. “<em>Steve,</em>” he teases back gently. </p><p> </p><p>“You sore at me still?” Steve’s pout is decidedly the most un-Captain America expression Bucky has ever seen. </p><p> </p><p>Thank god that’s not who’s in his bed right now. </p><p> </p><p>“Nah, sunshine. Just messing.” He ruffles at his hair and grins in response to the protest the move elicits once Steve realizes he’s gonna have to do his hair again before he can leave his tent. “About these gifts, though,” he says. “We gotta have rules, because you are <em> not </em> using your fame to outdo me on this, pal.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. He’s used to rules by now, even if he rarely follows them. “Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“One each. And no buying anything new- no doing anything too crazy either, we aren’t used to having much for gifts anyways. I know we both still have things to do, so I’m not gonna be miffed if you give me something small as long as you aren’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“You could never give me anything small,” Steve mutters, yelping when Bucky elbows him for the crass line- spending so much time around the other men must really be rubbing off on him now that he’s in a warzone and not on a stage. “Fine. <em> Yessir</em>. I got it, no rings or radios.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s heart pings, even though he knows Steve is joking about something that’s impossible to begin with. “Yeah, well. Gotta have something to look forward to if we get back home,” he tries to joke, but by Steve’s suddenly soft look, what he’s feeling must come across. It’s not like Steve isn’t just as much of a sap as be is, anyways. Punk cries all the time. </p><p> </p><p>Now, though, he’s looking at Bucky with something stubborn in his eyes that Bucky doesn’t understand until he speaks. “<em>When </em> we get back home, Buck. We’re gonna get out of this place together.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky smiles and leans their heads together. “I know.” It’s his turn to get that understanding across, although he isn’t sure how much he can mean it when that fact is out of his control. </p><p> </p><p>Still, if there’s any time of year to hope, it’s now, isn’t it? Christmas miracles and all. Getting home with Steve. That’d be the best gift of all. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Finding a gift for Steve within his own set guidelines turns out to be a bit more difficult than Bucky initially thought. He has a few days to scrounge around, at least, which is better than nothing- but when he’s still searching the night before they head out on their mission (that thry leave for on <em> Christmas Eve</em>, no less), he starts to get a little cramped for time. Good thing he told Steve it was okay not to expect much, yeah?</p><p> </p><p>Everything just feels so damn impersonal. Everything over here does, Bucky knows. They’re all crammed in the same clothes fighting the same people for the same cause- there’s not exactly much room for originality or personal property, but he has to <em> try </em> at least. </p><p> </p><p>The stereotypical gift would be the supplied condom from his kit- he could toss Steve a line about delivering the gift later, maybe even take him off to the woods for something quick- but Bucky’s feeling a bit more sentimental than that, sue him. Comparatively, a pack of playing cards or smokes is even less personal, even if they’re more proper. All the things Bucky would usually get him- pencils or sweets, a new scarf- aren’t easily found over here, and Bucky had insisted no spending money. Nothing extravagant. </p><p> </p><p>A tin of hot cocoa sure isn’t extravagant, but it damn well might be all that Steve is getting if Bucky doesn’t come up with something quick in the next few hours before nightfall. </p><p> </p><p>Steve hasn’t mentioned anything about his own search for gift giving, but he had told Bucky earlier he’d be busy for the next few hours and Bucky is pretty sure it’s not with a meeting seeing as he just walked past Peggy and Colonel Phillips about five minutes ago on his way back to his (actual) tent. Steve has never been sneaky, and apparently he <em> still </em> isn’t even with all the tactical genius pumped inside. </p><p> </p><p>Sitting down on his cot (which is a whole lot less comfortable than Steve’s, actually) Bucky sighs and pulls out his locker from under it to rummage through what little personal affects he has inside. He might as well take a look. There’s a limited amount of places he’s gonna be able to find something, and he said he wanted something a bit more sentimental…</p><p> </p><p>Like he said, he doesn’t have much, and even less of things worth value. The aforementioned prophylactic and medical kit, a picture from back home of his parents and sisters, an extra pair of socks, some postcards, Lucky Strikes, his canteen- he’s about to give up on this and just take his chances with the hot chocolate until he spots something in the corner of his pack that he’d nearly forgotten was even in here. </p><p> </p><p><em> Well, shit.</em> Maybe he does have something worth giving to Steve after all. </p><p> </p><p>He knows he probably shouldn’t be so wasteful, but it’s nearly Christmas and he’s feeling vindictive enough in their suffering to be a little self indulgent- so, in lieu of wrapping paper, he tears out a strip of clean gauze from his kit and carefully wraps it around his prize, ministrations precise and private lest anyone walk inside and ask what he’s doing. This is personal. They don’t need to know. </p><p> </p><p>Not even <em> Steve </em> needs to know, not for the next few days at least. He’s always been the impatient sort that peeked in his stocking and badgered Bucky to at least give him a hint, but Bucky had never budged then and he still won’t now if Steve keeps up the habit. </p><p> </p><p>After he’s done with the improvised wrap job, he tucks the small package into the left breast of his uniform shirt, buttoning it shut after and pulling his coat tighter over top of it to stave out the cold and Steve’s inevitably searching fingers when he pays his tent a visit later tonight under the guise of finalizing their plans for departure tomorrow morning. Can’t spoil what little surprise they have the room for, right?</p><p> </p><p>Hopefully Steve will be done with whatever he’s getting up to in time for their usual dinner with the Howlies in the mess tent, but until then….Bucky knows he only said one gift, but that hot chocolate sounds too good to pass up. And besides, it can be for all of them, because the Howies might not be his sweetheart- but they are essentially at this point their brothers. They deserve something to look forward to as well, snow and somber conditions be damned. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s always liked being able to do things for others, and over here where there’s so little room to do that without the touch of violence- he’s going to take advantage of it, even if it means he’ll have to be on Johnson’s KP shift when he gets back. Small sacrifices for small miracles. </p><p> </p><p>Hunting him back down to tell him he’d decided to take the offer of the cocoa only takes about half an hour, and by the time Bucky has the tin in his pocket alongside Steve’s actual present, it’s well into dark and the chill of night when he walks back up to Steve’s tent in order to check if he’s ready to eat. </p><p> </p><p>Out of courtesy and not spoiling Steve’s side of Christmas, Bucky doesn’t walk straight in like he normally would, instead settling outside and calling out for him instead. “Rogers, have you eaten yet? Fellas and I were about to head over to the mess tent.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s response comes out hurried, papers rustling before he pokes his head out and gives a furtive glance to each side to make sure the coast is clear before answering. “Gimme a sec?” he asks softly, looking at Bucky with an oddly doe eyed look that raises Bucky’s suspicions about what exactly he had just been doing. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t ask, though. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll be out here.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve’s expression is so longing that Bucky knows he’s wishing he could kiss him like he used to back in their apartment, but he gives him a bashful duck of his head instead and pulls back inside to do something Bucky can’t see. Whatever it is, it only takes a few more minutes before Steve is tramping outside with his coat bundled up over his broad shoulders and falling into step beside Bucky to make their way across camp. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky watched his own breath fog the air when he speaks. “You ready to move out tomorrow?” He’s not sure he is himself, even if he’s accepted the bitterness of their little holiday headout by now. </p><p> </p><p>If Steve hears the careful apprehensiveness in Bucky’s tone, he at least has the decency not to acknowledge it. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, scuffing his boots a bit and lowering his gaze to look at them so he can give Bucky a sideways look after. “I’m sorry you guys have to come with me, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Even if it’s in the middle of the woods, there’s no one else I’d rather spend Christmas with, punk,” Bucky says softly. Luckily, it’s cold enough for everyone to have shifted inside their respective tents and the mess hall, so no one is around to hear them. “You know that. I told you before, if you’re over here…”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re glad it’s with you,” Steve finishes with a smile that’s obviously reminiscent of their night spent together after Bucky’s rescue where Bucky had first said those words in response to Steve tentatively asking if Bucky was mad at him for coming. All prior things considered, it was a good night. The first one Bucky had had since shipping out.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s right. So no more apologies, if I have a problem with anyone, it’s with the brass. And there’s not much even a big man like you can do about ‘em, Cap.”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t mean I won’t go down trying,” Steve jokes. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well,” Bucky knocks their shoulders together and lowers his voice as they get closer to the mess tent. “If you’re going down on anyone, I’d rather it be me.” He grins at Steve’s sputter and lets it turn lazy as he lifts the flap of the tent open and gestures Steve inside to join their friends where he can already hear Dugan laughing at the table. “But you’ve always been a try hard, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Jerk,” Steve grumbles, but he doesn’t have the room to say much else with everyone around. He can at least use the excuse of the cold to explain how red his face is.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky snorts and steps in line behind him so the cook can serve up their food. “Eat up, soldier,” he says, slapping him on the back. “We’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Long is right. It’s barely five in the morning, and Bucky feels like he’s ready to crawl back in his sleeping bag and refuse to come out until the goddamn war is over. The cot he’d been stuck on hadn’t been comfortable (even less so when he considered how Steve wasn’t in it) but at least it had been semi-warm. Out here, barely a half mile away from camp, not even his warmest jacket is doing much to stave off the frigid temperature seeping in from outside. </p><p> </p><p>He’s not sure just how insulated that star spangled uniform of Steve’s is (although it’s most definitely a lot more suitable for a warzone than that tights-trunks-and-tee getup Bucky’d found under his coat after getting rescued that first night) but he’s not shivering as much as Morita and Falsworth are behind them, so either it or the serum must be keeping him warm. Thinking about it and how <em> Bucky </em> used to be the one doing that for him back home, Bucky’s throat closes up a bit and he has to stand still for a second to get his bearings. This happens, sometimes. </p><p> </p><p>Out of nowhere, the sheer impossibility of where they’ve both ended up, <em> how </em> they’ve both ended up- because although Bucky hasn’t found it in him to bury Steve with all the gruesome details of Zola’s injections and invasions, he knows they both know that something was done- it all hits him at once and leaves him looking for stable ground. In most cases, that stable ground ends up being Steve himself. </p><p> </p><p>This time is no different- Steve is slowing down to fall in step next to him almost immediately. “Buck?”</p><p> </p><p>None of their teammates pay them any mind. Even if they don’t know exactly how it is between the two of them (although sometimes Bucky suspects Morita might have at least a minor suspicion) they know what it’s like to be a shell-shocked soldier. There’s companionship in the silence- in Steve’s touch as well. </p><p> </p><p>He rests a gloved hand on Bucky’s shoulder, so tentative he can barely feel it through the fabric of his coat. Bucky swallows and tries not to let the cold make his eyes water when he looks at Steve with a halfhearted smile. “What’s up, Cap?” The name still feels foreign on his tongue. </p><p> </p><p>“Just checking in on the troops,” Steve says, in a tone just as forcibly light as Bucky’s. </p><p> </p><p>Now that they’re behind their men with low risk of being seen, Bucky risks squeezing Steve around the waist, careful of the gun strapped to his back. “I’m okay, Stevie. Just wandered off a bit in my head.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Steve sighs, obviously not believing him but knowing they can’t risk talking about anything too telling out in the open. Probably can’t risk it even when they make camp with their team sleeping so close, which sucks in general but is a relief for Bucky’s aversion to the subject for the time being. “Just try not to wander too far off in the woods, please. Kind of need you here with me.” The worry in his eyes makes it clear he means as more than just a sniper, as if Bucky wasn’t already well aware. </p><p> </p><p>Still, he smiles and squeezes Steve again before pulling away. “I’ll try. Now cheer up, punk. It’s Christmas Eve, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“I remember,” Steve agrees, smiling back while they both pick up the pace again. “Feeling festive?”</p><p> </p><p>If they were back home in their apartment, Bucky would be smirking and grabbing Steve close, hanging a sprig of mistletoe snitched from his parents’ decorations over their heads so he could crowd Steve in and croon out “feeling <em> frisky</em>” in hopes of getting a kiss. Steve would always give him one, even if it was after an eyeroll and smack to his chest. </p><p> </p><p>They unfortunately aren’t there, but Bucky is still determined to make the best of where they are, so he gives Steve a clandestine wink and pats his hand over his chest. “Got your present right here.” He does, still snug in his shirt pocket. Right over his heart. </p><p> </p><p>Steve raises his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmhmm. Why, where’s mine?” Bucky squints and gasps playfully. “Steven Rogers, did you <em> forget </em> to get me a gift?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve snorts and shoulders his shield up on his back. He knows all of Bucky’s tricks, including the theatrics. “You know I didn’t. S’just in my bag. Didn’t wanna risk ruining it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t go and break the rules on me, did you?” Bucky teases. For all that everyone thinks Steve is a goody-two shoes, Bucky knows better. He can be good if he wants to...he usually just doesn’t want to unless he has the right reasons. </p><p> </p><p>Steve huffs indignantly, like the suggestion is ridiculous (it isn’t). “No, I did not,” he snips, so prissily Bucky has to hold back a laugh at the sight of Captain America <em> pouting</em>. While technically on a mission, no less. </p><p> </p><p>“Course not,” Bucky flashes back, smiling so wide his teeth begin to chatter. They’re still trekking through the cold, after all. Speaking of, “We’re still going in the right direction, right? I haven’t been paying much attention to where we’ve been walking.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve pulls out his compass and grimaces at the newspaper clipped picture Bucky had almost forgotten he’d stuck in there to get the Colonel off his ass about ‘why Sergeant Barnes was always conferring with him in his tent’. Another small sacrifice- Peggy hasn’t said anything about it, thankfully. Bucky might not like her all too much yet but if she’s helping keep Steve safe- well, he likes her enough. </p><p> </p><p>Steve resolutely doesn’t look at the photo while he focuses on their direction to make sure it’s in check, snapping it shut after a moment and giving Bucky an apologetic smile. “We’re making good progress. Should probably be able to make camp by dinner close to the target and continue on tomorrow morning.”</p><p> </p><p>He says the last part loud enough for the rest of the men to pick up on, Dugan letting out a grateful groan. “Hear that, gentlemen? We’ll be done just in time for a Christmas dinner. That is, if you consider rations equal to a roast.”</p><p> </p><p>“Better than nothing,” Gabe sighs. “At least we’ll have a fire.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky thinks to the cocoa powder he has stored away in his pack and considers spoiling the surprise, but settles on not. They should all have something to make the evening happier, and Bucky’s Ma would smack him silly if he broke Christmas tradition on keeping presents secret. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, let’s keep on moving so we can get to it faster,” he says instead. “Less talking, more walking.” Steve somehow snorts <em> and </em> goes soft at the pseudo order. </p><p> </p><p>He outranks them all, but he still does as Bucky says nonetheless with a mock salute. “You heard him, fellas. Sir, yes, <em> sir.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>By the time they finally make it to their intended stopping point, it’s nightfall and Bucky can barely feel his fingers enough to help Falsworth build the fire. They make camp in a clearing adjacent to a patch of woods that shelters the ground enough for there to be some clear spots where they can kip out and find more dry wood than what kindling they stowed away in their packs. Thankfully, it’s not snowing yet, and from the look of the clouds, what little might be falling won't be enough to cover much ground. </p><p> </p><p>Steve and the others busy themselves scouting the area out to make sure it’s safe, coming back to report the affirmative and being welcomed by the product of Bucky and Falsworth’s labor- the fire isn’t very much, but it’s enough to have them all crowding close to strip their gloves off and warm up their hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank the lord,” Dugan mutters, dropping his pack down and sitting on it without ceremony. His gun is propped up against a nearby tree. “I suppose I’ll be doing the cooking since the two of you made the fire and we both know none of you can make a meal regardless?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky snorts and stands up from where he was squatting. “Right.” Then, as his brain thaws out enough for him to remember, “Oh, but I- uh, I have something for you guys. Little bit of a Christmas gift, I guess.” At everyone else’s raised eyebrows (especially Steve’s) Bucky smiles and turns to dig around in his pack for a moment, still semi-frozen fingers fumbling until- “Here you go. Courtesy of Private Johnson’s graciousness and my ever present bargaining skills. Should be enough in there for everyone to get a cup.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, Sarge,” Morita says, catching the tin when Bucky tosses it to him, “You didn’t have to.”</p><p> </p><p>“But we are <em> sure </em> glad you did,” Gabe finishes. He grins, and Bucky is privately grateful he waited to spring the surprise at how happy they all look. He’s always liked making people smile, but keeping his men’s morale up is something extra special considering what they’ve all been through together- not to mention Steve. </p><p> </p><p>War is hell, but holidays don’t have to be, right?</p><p> </p><p>“Right, then,” Dernier clears his throat and gestures to Dugan with a hand that’s clearly trying not to be too excited. “Shall we set ourselves up to enjoy the Sergeant’s gift?”</p><p> </p><p>Morita nods and hands the tin to Dugan so he can start wrangling out the pot he always carries in his bag. “If someone would please go get some sticks for the spit- maybe some extra wood while you’re at it?” Dugan asks. “We need to patrol the perimeter anyways.”</p><p> </p><p>Everyone but Steve and Bucky are already sitting, and Bucky is looking for an excuse to get Steve alone for a while anyways, so he nods his head and gives Steve a sideways glance. Steve picks up on it immediately, clearing his throat and nodding as well. “Buck and I will go look. Two sets of eyes are bound to have a better chance at seeing something than one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Roger that,” Dugan answers. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone is too busy to pay the two of them much mind after that, even when Steve stoops down and unzips his bag to rummage around a moment before he spots Bucky lifting a quizzical brow at him. He stuffs something in the pocket of his uniform before pulling out a flashlight. “Just in case,” he answers quickly. He leaves his shield and helmet on the ground next to his bag. </p><p> </p><p><em> Oh, so he thinks he’s being sneaky</em>, Bucky thinks, shaking his head with a smile. He doesn’t say anything while they’re earshot of the others, just shoulders his rifle on his back and steps back in the direction of the woods. “We’ll be back in a bit,” he says, probably a smidge too cheerful for someone freezing their ass off in the woods. What can he say, though? He’s got something else to look forward to following right behind him. </p><p> </p><p>A sentiment soon quickly proven, because as soon as they’re far enough away from the view of their camp and team, Bucky is twisting Steve around in a sudden move that leaves the blonde pinned against the closest tree with Bucky crowding him in with both arms and a smile. </p><p> </p><p>Even with only the moon to light their way, Bucky can see how Steve’s eyes go dewy the moment his back hits bark. He can definitely <em> hear </em> the way his breath hitches, taste it even with how he’s leaning in and kissing the gasp right off his lips a second later.</p><p> </p><p>Steve, on par with how hard of a time he’s had keeping quiet when they’re like this now that he has proper capacity of his lungs, moans into the way Bucky licks into his mouth, cold fingers from where he forgot to put his gloves back on digging into Bucky’s shoulders with thumbs brushing against his neck. </p><p> </p><p>When Bucky pulls back after a minute, they’re both breathless. The skin around Steve’s mouth is scraped red from Bucky’s stubble. That’s not the only itch that got scratched, it seems, at least based off of the doe-eyed look Steve gives him. It has Bucky’s heart flashing warm even through the cold climate they’re in. </p><p> </p><p>“Buck,” Steve whispers out, gripping Bucky closer like he’s afraid he’s going to run away- as if he ever would when their time to spend together like this is already fleeting. “Buck,” he repeats. </p><p> </p><p>“What is it?” Bucky whispers back, kissing him again, short and sweet between their answers. </p><p> </p><p>“Got you a present.” Steve’s smile is shy, hand movement tentative when it dips down between them to fumble into the pocket Bucky had seen him stuff something in a few minutes prior. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sweetheart?” Bucky murmurs. “I got you something too. Gonna let me go first, or do you wanna?” Looks like they’re doing this here- there’s not much other opportunity they’re going to get, and pressed up against Steve with him smiling underneath definitely isn’t the worst of situations Bucky has been in over here, so he’s glad to go with it. </p><p> </p><p>Steve is definitely on board, ducking his head and holding whatever is in his hand tight to his chest between them. “You first.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, really?” Bucky teases. “Even though this was your idea?” While he’s talking, he pulls back enough to unbutton his coat so he can get at the pocket- and the gift- inside. </p><p> </p><p>Steve eyes his stripping suspiciously and hopefully all at once, but keeps his words snarky. “You <em> asked</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky sighs, snorting at Steve’s hungry look towards his chest and its smattering of hair that peeks out once he has his coat open enough to slip a hand in towards his chest pocket. “Hold your horses, hotshot. I got you a <em> real </em> present.” He has to kiss Steve again when he offers up a pout at the good natured reprimand. “Maybe after, if we have enough time.” </p><p> </p><p>“We better get to opening our presents up, then,” Steve murmurs, eyeing Bucky’s hand hopefully. “Are you gonna let me have it or am I supposed to guess what it is?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, if we wait on that we might be here all night,” Bucky hums, nosing a kiss against Steve’s neck and feeling him shiver at the temperature of it. “And as much as I like having you against this tree, I think we have some people waiting on us.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a jerk,” Steve sighs, but he’s smiling when Bucky pulls back, neck now scraped up too. Hopefully it’ll heal by the time they walk back, but if not...well, there’s always the <em> I fell into a tree </em> excuse. It isn’t <em> technically </em> a lie. “Well, we better get started then. You ready?”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky curls his fingers around the package for a moment, taking in a deep breath before steeling up his nerves and handing it over to Steve’s waiting hand with a smile. It’s not that he’s worried Steve won’t like it, he <em> knows </em> he will, it’s just- it means a bit more to him that they’re doing this than he’s let on. Steve hands his package over as well, wrapped not in gauze like Bucky’s, but an envelope that Bucky knows must have been swiped from next to the Colonel’s typewriter. </p><p> </p><p>He raises his eyebrows at Steve in reference to that fact, but Steve only smiles sheepishly while carefully unraveling the bandages from around his own gift, motions methodical until he finally gets to the gift inside and Bucky can feel himself holding in his breath. </p><p> </p><p>“Buck,” Steve gets out, voice so soft it’s almost lost in the wind rustling through the trees around them. “Are these…”</p><p> </p><p>“Mine,” Bucky finishes, tone set to match. “Or, well. Yours now.”</p><p> </p><p>The silver glint of Bucky’s tags shines in the moonlight filtering through the bare branches above them, chain cradled like something precious in the curve of Steve’s palm. Steve’s gaze when he flicks from them to Bucky’s face is just as bright. </p><p> </p><p>They aren’t his actual tags, though Bucky doesn’t think he’d have any problem handing those on over if that were needed- but these might be even more meaningful, actually, considering they were the ones Bucky had around his neck when Steve first came back to him and rescued the 107th from Azzano. They’d given him new ones a day after he got cleared from the med tent, made an exception for their no replacement policy because of how beat up he’d gotten in Hydra’s hands. The tags Steve has only flaw is a scratch obscuring his first name and part of his serial number. </p><p> </p><p>By the way Steve is looking at them, he doesn’t mind in the slightest. </p><p> </p><p>“Buck,” he chokes out again. “You…”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky closes his hand free of Steve’s gift over top, cool metal pressing between them. His throat feels just as thick when he speaks. “War is hell, Stevie. It’s taken the both of us farther away than I thought we’d ever get, and I don’t have much left to give, but…now you can’t go nowhere without a bit of me with you.” He laughs wetly and leans their foreheads together, holding his wrist tight. “I always wanted you to have my name, anyways. I wish it were under better circumstances, but...if anyone carries my name, it deserves to be you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t carry it too far away, Buck,” Steve says hoarsely. His eyes are wet- see? Easy crier like always. “Long as you don’t take my heart too far either.”</p><p> </p><p>“You own my heart,” Bucky whispers, touching their joined grasps to his chest so Steve can feel the beat of his heart and the press of his still-worn tags under. “I’m just keeping it here for you.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s Steve’s turn to laugh this time, blinking against what must be tears turned cold and looking up at Steve with a trembling smile. “You gonna put ‘em on me so we can get to your turn before Morita comes looking for us?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have a suspicion he knows not to come looking for something he shouldn’t be seeing,” Bucky says, thumbing away at a glimmering tear threatening to spill out from Steve’s eye. Christ, he’s gotta keep himself together before he starts with the waterworks right along behind him. “But, here. I’ve got you.”</p><p> </p><p>The weight of that last sentence goes unspoken, but the motion of Bucky looping the chain of his tags around Steve’s neck to hang alongside his own is followed by a kiss so passionate, Bucky has to be careful not to crumple Steve’s envelope still clutched in hand with the momentum of it that sweeps through his body. Speaking of…</p><p> </p><p>Bucky breaks away from the kiss after another moment, painfully aware of how far he wishes he could take this and the reality of the constraint time has on them. Steve just needs a reminder. </p><p> </p><p>“You gonna let me get to mine now?” he murmurs, tugging Steve in closer by his tags just to revel in the hitch it pulls from Steve’s breathing. </p><p> </p><p>“You probably should really get to it when you have the time to sit down back at camp,” Steve says quietly. “But I can tell you what it is at least.” </p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s interest is piqued. “What is it?” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s, ah- god, this sounds dumber than I thought it would- it’s a letter.” He blushes when Bucky looks at him with a certain expression, head shaking. “Not <em> that </em> kind. In your words, I got you a <em> real </em> present.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sweetheart…” Bucky begins, grin spreading slow on his face. “Did you write me a <em> love letter</em>?” Steve’s groan is enough of an answer for Bucky to be certain, but the nod and meek little ‘yeah?’ is a nice touch to have. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” He nuzzles his head closer, tucking the letter in the same pocket the tags had come from so he can circle his arms around Steve and hold him properly. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you.”</p><p> </p><p>“The letter might tell you a little something about that,” Steve smiles. He says it as a joke, but Bucky can tell there’s a note of truth in it as well. “I know it’s not that much, but…”</p><p> </p><p>“Anything from you is everything to me,” Bucky cuts him off. “What did the rules say about not being upset about what we came up with?”</p><p> </p><p>Steve scowls and rolls his eyes. “Sir, yes, <em> sir</em>,” he repeats, same as before, only this time with a hint of <em> little shit </em> in his tone that is 100% Steve Rogers and none of Captain America. Bucky loves him for it. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky grips the back of his neck half to scuff him for the attitude and half to make him yelp at how cold his hand is. “Punk,” he snorts. “We better see about actually getting that wood we promised, we’ve been sidetracked for a while.”</p><p> </p><p>“How come everyone gets wood but me?” Steve mutters, and then he’s yelping again when Bucky flicks his reddened nose. “<em>Bucky</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“These no-good army men are corrupting you, huh? You used to smack the hell out of me when I made remarks like that, now look at you.” Bucky smirks and tugs on his hair where his bangs have flopped forward. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well, weeks of not being able to kiss your fella will do that to you,” Steve says primly. “Besides, you’ve had me up against a <em> tree </em> this whole time.” He looks up at the same time Bucky does, pine branches and clear night sky filling their sight, and hums. “Although technically I guess this is the best Christmas tree we’ve ever had.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then that makes you the best present I’ve ever got considering you’re all wrapped up for me under it,” Bucky grins. “Opening you up is gonna have to wait ‘til we’re done with the mission, I’m afraid.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve grumbles, but still lets Bucky pulls him away after a final kiss to head off and scout out Dugan’s requested spit-sticks. He does, however, raise his eyebrows when Bucky doesn’t let go of his hand. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky just tosses him a grin and squeezes. “My fingers are cold. Needed warming up.” They might as well hold hands while they can. </p><p> </p><p>Steve smiles and brings himself closer. “Uh huh.”</p><p> </p><p>“My lips are cold too.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re an idiot.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>It’s well into the night and the <em> actual </em> holiday of Christmas by the time Bucky gets a real chance to open the letter and read what Steve wrote. He’s on watch, Steve sleeping halfway buried under the combined warmth of their blankets and Bucky’s coat behind him. His hands are curled around Bucky’s tags still looped around his neck, his own tucked inside so no one will notice he’s wearing more than one pair. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky had had to fight Dernier on taking over his shift out of gratitude for the cocoa still warming their stomachs, but he’d managed to talk him out of the conviction by playing it off as not wanting to slack on his duty. Really, he’d just wanted to read the letter and have a chance to fall fully back asleep next to Steve without fear of waking up early and leaving his tent for the first time in weeks. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not snowing yet, so thankfully Bucky doesn’t have to worry about shielding the paper, just hunkers closer to the fire for light and casts a final look at Steve still slumbering behind him. The rest of the men have their backs to them, so he lets his expression turn as fond as he feels before he finally turns back forward to start his reading. </p><p> </p><p>Steve’s swoopy scrawl is familiar under his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Buck, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m not sure how cut out I am for this love letter writing business- don’t get me wrong, you know exactly how much I feel for you, but just writing that “dear” made me feel a little bit like a moron. Maybe it’s because I am a moron, maybe it’s because I’ve never been one to use sappy names (we both know that’s more your thing), but that’s always how people say they start these things and I don’t have much else to go on.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> But you know I’ve never been good with words. Well, not where it matters to </em> me <em> anyways. I’ve been told recently I can give a hell of a motivational speech, but when it comes to my own feelings? It’s no coincidence that the most precious words to me are ones that you came up with.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So why pick a letter as my gift to you? I could say it’s because you made me promise not to get you anything too big or worth money (which made things a little difficult, I have to say), but really it’s because no matter how bad I am with saying things, I want you to hear them anyways and we both know that where we are now makes it hard for that to happen. Just know that I love you, and I wish I could say it. Even when people are listening.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> This letter </em> is <em> me saying that and everything else I feel like you need to know, or at least be reminded of while we have to live this way. So, Bucky Barnes, here it is. A letter of reasons why I love you- why I’m going to do everything I ever can to keep you, war be damned.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> If there’s anything the serum has shown me, it’s that I used to be invisible in the way you joked about the night we first got back. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, I guess, because it might have sucked for the most part- but at least it lets me have a good look at who saw me before I was all of what Dr. Erskine made me. Dr. Erskine being one of those people, my Ma, myself- and then you. Always you, from the moment we met. You showed me I was strong, I was someone- even before someone </em> else <em> noticed. I love the way you look at me, because it’s the way you’ve always looked at me- even when I had nothing, </em> was <em> nothing, I always had you. You’ll always have me in the same way- know that, because I know this war has tried its best to make you forget.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> I love the way you tease, the way you fight, even the way you boss me around and pull my hair whenever I say something dumb you don’t like, although I could live without the flicking (I’m joking, please don’t ever change a thing). I love the way your mouth goes crooked when you smile (really your mouth in general), how strong you are no matter what size I am, the sound of your voice when you’re sleepy or laugh and say my name. I’ll always listen to anything you have to say, even if I might not </em> listen <em> , you know? I love your sense of humor (even if it’s in the gutter). Your patience (because god knows I test it). Even the way you get jealous, as if I could ever want anyone else in the way I want you.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> I love you for what you do for me, but I love you for what you do for the world even more. I know this shithole has you thinking otherwise, but you are </em> good <em> , Bucky Barnes. You are brave, and loyal, and everything else that a hero could want to be. Because that’s what you are. You might not have to wear this stupid cowl, but you’re just as much of a hero as the press wants to make me out to be. You’ve always tried your best to help other people and make your sisters smile, and I love that because everyone else loves it too.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Physically, you know I’ve always thought you were beautiful, and even now that I’ve seen you gone two weeks without shaving or taking a shower- nothing has changed. In fact, I kind of like the scruffy look on you. Makes you look the year older you’re always trying to hold over my head, and I love that about you too. It’s one of many things about you that I find comforting in a way I can’t explain, but sometimes I don’t think I’d have to, because you understand me in a way I don’t think anyone else can. You’re a part of me no one else can get, because you </em> are <em> it. You’re everything to me.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I love your hair. I love your thighs. I love the patch of skin that’s always soft above your waist. I love the way you always insist the bump on my nose was made to sit in the dimple of your chin. I love how you won’t admit you sway your hips when you walk, the feeling of your arm around my shoulder, the crease between your eyebrows whenever you look at me for doing something stupid. You make me feel young, happy, brave, good- you make me feel everything when I’m with you. And when I’m with you, wherever we are will always be my home, because that’s what you are, Bucky Barnes. Home.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Whenever I get in too deep (which is more often than I like to admit), you wade in and pull me out, Buck. You’re my solid ground.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I love you. If I never get to say it out loud again, just know I do. War can try to eat you up and swallow you whole, but it can’t have all of you Buck, because part of you is always going to belong to me, just like I do you. You’re my pal, my buddy, my Bucky. My best guy, both back in Brooklyn and on the battlefield. My first friend. My home. My family. My savior. My soulmate. Everything a person can be, you are to me.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I wrote this letter so you can keep it with you in your pocket, in your pack- wherever you need it so you can pull it out and remember what I feel for you even if I’m not around or can’t say it out loud. Because you’re it for me no matter where we both end up, Buck, but I’ll do my hardest to make sure that it’s back home. I promise.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Until the end of the line, jerk. I hope you liked your present as much as I’m sure I liked mine. Merry Christmas.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Love, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Stevie </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Bucky puts the letter down and immediately has to blink away the tears he had staved off earlier by the tree with Steve. Jesus. Not good with words, huh? And here Bucky is falling apart over them like a baby anyways. </p><p> </p><p>For all that Steve had written saying Bucky understands him in a way no one else does, Bucky knows it’s the same for him too. Steve had somehow hit on everything Bucky was needing to hear within the letter, and after going so long without being able to hear it...being able to read it means a lot, even outside the context of it being a Christmas gift. Bucky would have been happy with a pack of crackers from him. This...this is something else entirely. </p><p> </p><p>He swallows and folds up the letter carefully, creasing each ridge with the care he wishes he could show Steve’s body in the same way right now. Soon, he hopes. It’s been too long since he’s gotten to take Steve apart in the way he deserves. Steve, who is still sleeping, curled up clutching Bucky’s gift to him in hand. Bucky wishes he could hold him in the same way. </p><p> </p><p>This new body really hasn’t changed a thing. Not where it counts. Bucky’s known that, really, but sometimes the insecurities still creep in whenever Peggy or anyone else looks at Steve like he’s someone worth wanting now that he’s in it. Liking him before the serum is one thing, but wanting him...for these people, that only came after. Steve’s still the same old punk inside, and anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve to know it. </p><p> </p><p>Bucky knows. All this letter has done is affirm. </p><p> </p><p>Steve Rogers is still his, body, mind, and soul. Only one of those things has changed because of the serum, but it doesn’t matter to the two of them. Being with Steve, even in these conditions, ones Bucky never thought they’d see in his wildest dreams- it’s the same old slow dance. The number has just changed, but Bucky won’t let it be up yet. They’ll come out the other side of this somehow, one way or another. </p><p> </p><p>He tucks the paper back in its envelope and carefully crawls back over to where Steve is sleeping under his jacket so he can place it quietly in the side of his pack for safekeeping. He would read it again, but he thinks he already has the gist of what Steve was trying to say down. </p><p> </p><p>As much as he’d like to slide right under next to Steve and soak in his warmth enough to fall asleep, he’s still got a good half hour left on watch before he can do so. Thankfully, Morita is the one taking over his turn, so he things he can get away with cuddling up a little closer than usual without too many questions. He’s a good guy like that- Bucky swears that earlier when Dugan had asked what happened to Steve’s face and Steve had spouted off the excuse of falling into a tree, Morita had muttered something about “<em>Are you sure someone didn’t push you up against it?</em>” under his breath with a snort, but he’s not exactly in the position to look too far into that right now. Steve’s face is healed up from any beard burn, anyhow, so there’s no incriminating evidence. </p><p> </p><p>He has plenty of other things to dwell on, anyways. Namely the sound of Steve breathing steady behind him but also-</p><p> </p><p>War is hell, but being with Steve- well, like Bucky said. It might be the closest to heaven as he’s ever getting, and he’ll take it gladly. The church had always told them heaven is a place of love, and isn’t that what they’ve got between them? Bucky doesn’t need pearly gates or promises of everlasting life, not as long as he’s got Steve here by his side. </p><p> </p><p>Heaven is a place on earth when it comes to him, at least as far as Bucky is concerned. One built for two. To love and be in love with. </p><p> </p><p>He chose Steve, and Steve chose him. And even if this war gets the best of them, or sinks its claws in deep, even if they have to fight until they’re weary- Bucky knows they’ve both got something stronger to keep them going. Bucky doesn’t have to find heaven when Steve will always lead him there. </p><p> </p><p>And he thinks- <em> knows</em>- that although this war has them in hell, he’ll never be alone in having to make his way through it. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t need a Christmas miracle, really. Steve, and what he feels for him, is miracle enough. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the second fic i have written is a bit less angsty just to make up for all this and will be the december installment of the sub steve book club, probably out on christmas eve. so look out for that! otherwise: i hope you enjoyed and feedback is the best holiday gift i could receive. happy [insert holiday of choice] and stay safe.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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